


Lovely

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [17]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a tumblr anon request, Tom’s POV for the events leading up to UPSTAGED but actually set after In His Kiss.  </p><p>
  <img/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely

**Lovely**

I couldn’t banish the memory of my costar tripping and falling into my arms, her soft, supple skin pressed into my palms, her curves cushioning my body. Abigail Morgan’s big blue eyes looked up at me with abject humiliation and utter embarrassment, her skin flushed a bright, gorgeous shade of pink and she mumbled an apology unintelligibly, under her breath. Before I could absolve her of any wrongdoing, introduce myself or confirm that she was unhurt, she flew from my arms, high-tailing it out of the rehearsal space and away from me.

The rest of afternoon her scent surrounded me, that hint of femininity and peach permeated my clothing wherever she had touched. With her smell in my nose, I was distracted and strangely aroused. She was a shy, quiet, little creature, making an effort to fade into the background whenever I was around. Our eyes would meet across the table, and she immediately glanced away, the blush returning to her cheeks. I caught her sight once more during the day, and I tried to smile reassuringly, her nervousness obvious. Again I was met with her dipping her face, training her eyes back into her script.

Abigail wasn’t always like that; she seemed to reserve the shyness for me and me alone. Four days later, we hadn’t exchanged more than seven words between us aside from the script and she was so dreadfully soft-spoken when she did finally speak. However, I observed her with Juliet, a friendly intelligent brunette in the cast, and Abigail was animated and passionate in her conversation with the other woman. She was all sparkling wide blue eyes, huge smiles, and excited giddy exaggerated gestures. Fascination took hold of me in watching her when she didn’t know I was there.

Possessing a natural talent and instinct, Abigail was tremendous during the table reads, the inflection she had over her voice, the confidence she had in the material. She knew her craft and was a force of nature, unequivocally attractive qualities to me in this business. Shameful that this role, opposite me, was her first big role; she was a newly discovered gem, a rising star. I knew I was hired for my name and hopefully for my talent, but with Abigail was in the production for her phenomenal talent.  

When she wasn’t chatting with Juliet, she was immersed in the script, the only thing to capture her attention and keep it. She nibbled on the corner of her lip absently, the curve of her mouth twisted up in a half smile. Every once and again, she would furrow or raise and then relax her eyebrows under her bangs in concentration. She arrested my focus with her avoidance of me with an intense need to know why. She was wonderfully talented, inexplicably adorable in her anxiety, and when she smiled she brightened the room.

I almost felt like a child at school, obsessed with rejection and the person that summarily shunned me. She ran from me on a daily basis, all I could see was back of her blond hair disappearing in the direction of the dressing room. Abigail in all her avoidance had captivated me, and I couldn’t ignore this pull she had over me. I wanted to get to know her, but at every turn she was running away from me again with pink tainting her face.

At the end of that first week in her company, the director had us up on our feet, running lines, building a rapport. The relationship between Abby’s character and mine was the central plot of the play, a husband and wife on the brink of separation because of her family issues. The first time we ran through the end scene when Sarah declares her relationship with her husband as more precious, more important to her than that of her father, Abigail delivered it with such conviction that I felt it in my heart and my groin.

I was enchanted.

That was the first time I truly wanted to get beyond that barrier she kept throwing between us. I wanted to know her, make her comfortable, and maybe talk to her. Truth be told, I desired all of it, the way she talked with Juliet, I wanted that; the way she blushed, I wanted her painted that color as she writhed in pleasure beneath me; her insane talent, I wanted to absorb it; most of all, that focus she had on her script, I wanted unwavering attention on me.

“Abigail, may I walk you to the tube?” She spun around, gasping, caught completely unaware of my presence. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” I said as her hand flew to her rapidly beating heart. “I didn’t intend to startle you.”

She looked down, sighing heavily as her cheeks flamed to life again. She shook her head in the negative. “N-n-n-no… no, no… N-no thank you,” she stammered nervously, avoiding meeting my eyes yet again.

I studied her face, trying to figure her aversion to me, why she was so anxious. I originally chalked it up to star struck since this was her first true West End show, but the initial shock would’ve worn off after a week. “Abigail, I’d like to get to know you better. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. Have I done something to offend you?”

*

My gorgeous girlfriend giggled into my chest, reminiscing about our first fortnight together. She shook her head, covering her face with her hands and hide against my chest. I grasped her to me, feeling closer to her since we were in a good place after that rough start. Muffled by speaking into her palms, she squeaked, “I was so nervous, babe!”

I laughed with her, squeezing her shoulders and kissing the crown of her head. “The more you avoided me, the more I wanted you.”

She looked up at me through yet another glowing pink face. “You intimidated me. You were so good, during those rehearsals… I thought I would disappear in your shadow. You were Tom Hiddleston.”

Teasing her mercilessly, I quickly responded, “Glad I shed that silly sod.”

“Stop taking the mickey!” She poked me in the ribs, “You know what I mean, twit! You’re beyond talented, done theatre, television and movies – some of the biggest movies in the world. I’m just Abby. Besides you were so tall.”

“Did I shrink since I shagged you in the dressing room?”

“Stop it!” She was positively glowing from giggling; she looked so happy. “I was crushing on you in a huge way.”

I brushed my hand over her hair and I could almost see the giddy thrill flutter through her. This woman wore her heart on her sleeve, and adored her. In my avoiding and suppressing the truth for months, my love for her grew and scared the hell out of me. I was lucky that she chose me. “Believe it or not, I struggled with seducing you. I didn’t want to complicate our working relationship, but I couldn’t stay away from you. I wanted you to be comfortable around me, stick by me, and spend time with me, for you to talk to me… I watched you with Juliet and I was drawn to your vitality, your enthusiasm. Because, my Abby, you are lovely.”


End file.
